‘Honest to God, Moira, do you really need toeat everything on your plate? You’re 

      like a bloody locust!'

               Immediately she put her knife and fork down.

‘Are you finished?’ she murmured, makingsigns of clearing the table.

‘About half an hour ago.’

She rose hastily and began to pile the dishestogether.

‘I’m going to watch the TV,’ his chairscreeched from the table.

As she hurried to the kitchen, ‘Have somebloody self-control. Don’t keep eating just because I can’t see you.’

With her head down, she made couple moretrips to the dining room before clearing the table completely.

In the kitchen, out of his sight, she placedthe leftovers into plastic containers, and with one ear in his direction, stuckher fingers into the chicken apricot concoction and popped two succulentpieces, flowing with thick creamy sauce, into her mouth. God, it was sheerheaven.

‘Moira!’

She hurried to stack the few dirty dishes inthe dishwasher, the plastic containers in the refrigerator, and wonderedwhether she’d dare to have a piece of the pecan pie which she had barelytouched. Without even realizing what she was doing, she fished the pie out ofthe refrigerator, and hands trembling with anticipation and fear, she spooned amouthful into her mouth. Heavenly. Heavenly. Heavenly.

Licking her fingers and then drying them onthe tea towel, she raced into the sitting room. He was staring at her with alook of disapproval.

‘Why do you do that, Moira? Who do you thinkyou’re fooling?’

She sat down, eyes glued to the TV screen.She heard him make an impatient click, crossing his knees with a sharp crack.

She sat there in silence, hoping he mightneed to go to the toilet in the next commercial break. If she were quick, shemight manage a bite of something else.

But in the end, he outstayed her, and shedecided to go to the kitchen anyway.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I thought I left...’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘I’m not sure that I…’

‘Yes, you have.’

She sat down.

Hours later, yawning her head off, she leftto go to bed, throwing a wistful look at the kitchen door.

It was a Friday morning that he came backunexpectedly to find her on her hands and knees, looking for a chocolate coatedalmond which had rolled under the settee. Its five companions were nestling ina soup plate on top of the coffee table.

‘Christ, Almighty, Moira!’ he exclaimed.‘Well, that’s it!’

She sat up on her haunches, alarm in hereyes.

‘I can’t hack it anymore, Moira.’

‘What? What?’ she struggled to her feet. Buthe’d already marched away from her.

‘Vincent?’

She hurried towards the bedroom where he hadan open suitcase on the bed and was tossing his clothing haphazardly into it.

‘Vincent?’

‘I’ve had it, Moira. I’m sick of a wife who’sdouble my size.’

‘I’ll change, Vincent, I promise.’

‘It’s no use talking about it, Moira.’

‘I’ll go on a diet.’

‘Diet?’ he exclaimed in disgust. ‘Since whenhave your diets ever stopped you from eating?’

‘This time I’ll stick with it, Vincent. Ipromise.’ She was beginning to blubber, seeing something unyielding in hiseyes. ‘I mean it this time, Vincent. Please don’t leave me.’

‘Moira, I’m fifty years old. And the onlytime I feel old is when I’m with you.’

He stopped and looked at her with a glimmerof compassion. ‘When was the last time we had any fun together, Moira?’

‘Oh, Vincent, I will try to change,honest I will.’

‘I rememberwhen we used to go dancing every weekend. Make love practically every day.Sometimes two or three times a day.’

‘We had thekids,’ she threw in weakly.

‘This was tenyears after the kids.’

‘I saw thisgreat diet in a magazine…’

‘You see dietseverywhere,’ he interrupted her sharply. ‘Seeing them doesn’t make you stopeating.’

‘I’ll try,Vincent. I really will try.’

He stopped whathe was doing, looked around the room ‘I think I’ve got everything,’ he saidsnapping the case shut. ‘Anything else I need, I’ll buy.’

‘Vincent,please.’

‘The house ispaid off, and it’s in your name,’ he said off hand, ‘so all you need to worryabout is the day to day bills and I’ll make regular transfer to your bankaccount to keep you going.’

She wasstanding in the middle of the room, eyes streaming like a fountain. ‘Don’tleave me, Vincent. I can’t live without you.’

‘You’ve beenliving without me for 15 years, Moira. So long as your bosom pal,’ throwing hishand in the direction of the kitchen, ‘is full of vanilla ice cream, spareribsand a chop or two, you’ve got everything you need.’

Her sobs ceasedfor a moment. God, she’d forgotten the pork fillets she’d frozen a few daysago. She’d better eat them soon. Pork wasn’t a good meat to keep.

‘Right,’ hesaid with a grimace as if reading her thoughts.

‘Oh, please,Vincent.’ He really was leaving. She tottered after him, as holding his casefirmly in his hand, he reached the front door.

He stopped fora moment. Putting his case down, he fished into his pocked taking out a bunchof keys. With care he detached a few.

‘Here are allyour keys,’ placing them into her nerveless hand, ‘so you won’t need to changelocks. In case you start worrying that I might want to sneak back one day.’

‘Where are yougoing, Vincent?’

‘I’m going tothe coast house, Moira. That’s where I’ve always wanted to go. But, of course,you didn’t want to live at the coast. You wanted to stay in this dump,instead.’

‘But you knowhow I can’t stand the sun. My skin...’

‘Your skin wasall right 15 years ago,’ he interrupted. ‘But, of course, there was a whole lotless of it then. I’m sorry, Moira. I want to do what normal people do. Goplaces like normal people do. Instead, it’s, I can’t go there, because theseats aren’t comfortable, I can’t wear a swimsuit because people stare at me.’

‘You know theydo, Vincent.’

‘Of course theydo, Moira. You’re three stones heavier than when I married you. You’re twostones heavier than I am.’

‘I’ll go on adiet, right this minute, Vincent. I swear I’ll stick to it. Please, Vincent,please.’

‘I’m sick ofbeing a policeman, Moira. From now on your weight is no longer my problem.’

‘You havesomeone else, haven’t you?’

‘Of course, Ihave someone else. Haven’t you noticed? We don’t sleep in the same bed anymore.That’s because there’s not enough room for me and the three of you.’

‘I’ll change,Vincent, I really will.’

‘For years,every time you turned over, I’d pop up in the air like a bloody cork tossed onthe high seas.’

‘Oh, Vincent,don’t be so cruel.’

‘Well, youwon’t need to worry about me anymore, Moira,’ he said opening the door, andthen shutting it firmly behind him.

………..

Vincent? Hermouth opened but there was no sound, as her whole body dissolved into sobs.

Disoriented,she stared at the door. What was she doing there? Was she going out?

Brrrr…………Brrrr…………..Brrrr…………..

She opened thedoor. There was no one there. Vincent and his flashy Jag were gone. Only herblue faded Holden was still standing there.

Why had sheopened the door? Surely. she heard the doorbell ring? But there was no onethere. She could still hear the sound. It was the phone. Perhaps it wasVincent.

She shut thedoor and hurried to the sitting room.

‘Vincent?’

‘Mum? What’sthe matter? You sound funny. Mum?’

‘Oh, Tina,’ sheanswered, eyes and nose streaming. ‘It’s your dad. He’s left. He said he can’tlive with me anymore. I’m too fat.’

‘Oh, mum. Youstay there. I’ll be right over.’

Within an hourshe was surrounded by her five girls.

‘I’m sure he’llcome back,’ she was saying, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

‘Of course, hewill,’ Kelly said soothingly.

‘Probablysomething’s not going right for him at work,’ she volunteered.

‘Very likely,’agreed Monica.

‘But once he’shad time to think about it, he’ll be back, I know he will.’

‘Nothingsurer,’ said Dani, handing her a cup of cocoa with a sprinkling of chocolateslivers. Just the way she liked it. It was so smooth and so creamy. Half milk,half cream, unless she was mistaken.

‘He was soangry,’ she said between sips.

‘It won’t lastlong,’ reassured Chelsea.

She sighed.They were true comfort girls. Like all the Lawrence girls were. She knew thatby the end of the day every Lawrence would have been told of poor Moira’splight.

That’s how theLawrences were – unlike Vincent’s family who kept all their family business tothemselves. That’s why they were so uptight. They couldn’t bear to have anyonethink of them as less than perfect. Even their toilets were so discreet youneeded a map to find where they hid the toilet paper.

When Vincenthad made a rare, bad investment, and lost money, he’d been appalled when shetold him what Uncle Jimmy’s advice had been on that occasion; and had told her,quite unequivocally, what Uncle Jimmy could do with his advice.

But to theLawrences nothing was sacred or secret. Even when Uncle Benny had jumped thefence, leaving his pregnant wife for freckly-faced Robert Stinkley, everytelephone in every Lawrence house had the news five minutes later.

‘First thing weneed to do,’ said Monica, ‘is to get you a job. You’re only forty-nine, afterall.’

‘But your dadsaid he’ll send me money,’ she explained anxiously.

‘Oh, he will,we know we can trust dad to do that,’ said Kelly, handing her a wafer-thinchocolate biscuit. ‘But a job will keep you occupied, so you won’t have so muchtime to think about dad.’

All Lawrenceshad their share of common sense, and they also knew about erring husbands andhow far you could trust them. One of the real glamour pusses of Lawrence’sgirls had been left not by one, but by three husbands. Each one had sworn tosend her money. And had done so. But once the guilt wore off, a certainunpleasant reality set in. These good-time girls, unlike the Lawrence girls,weren’t into cooking and washing and ironing. They were great believers ineating out three times a day, seven days a week, sending out dirty clothes tothe laundry, and generally spending money as though it was, in fact, growingabundantly in the back yard. The money transfers rarely lasted long.

‘And remember,’exclaimed Dani, ‘the Blue Care begged you to be their cook. Last I heard theywere still putting up with part-time cooks.’

‘That’s right,’agreed Monica. ‘We’ll go right this minute,’ clearing the cups and saucers asshe spoke.

‘But…’

‘Might as well,mum.’

……….

The kitchenused by Blue Care was the local church hall and the five cars pulled in oneafter the other with the precision of trained soldiers.

Before Moirawas out of the car, a woman, spattered with food bits from head to toe, racedout holding out her arms.

‘Oh, Moira, youmust have heard my prayers. Just look at me,’ she wailed.

‘Whathappened?’

‘You may wellask’, said the other, dragging her inside. ‘It’s the old people,’ sheexclaimed. ‘None of our young volunteers will go near them. So, I had to do thedelivery myself.’

By now theywere all standing in the kitchen.

‘What’s thesmell?’ asked Moira.

‘Awful, isn’tit?’ said the other. ‘And I had to deliver the muck. One old fellow told me tobugger off, or he’d sue the dog on to me. When I said, Mr. Simpson, youdon’t have a dog, he said, said, Well, I’ll bloody well will get one ifI ever see you again.’

Moira shook herhead in sympathy.

‘Then at thevery next place, the fellow lifted the lid off the dish, took one sniff andthrew the whole lot at me.’

She fell into achair near the sink and burst into tears.

Moira hadalready taken off her jacket and was emptying the contents of the pots down thesink. She opened a few cupboards and started writing out a list.

‘Girls, go homeand bring me back these. I’ll use a few tins to get us going today,’ sheaddressed the woman. ‘Tomorrow we can start from scratch.’

‘Oh, bless you,Moira. I don’t think I could survive another day like today.’

‘What a kitchenyou have here, Joyce,’ said Moira. ‘I can see my face in every pot and pan.’She turned to the woman with an approving smile. ‘Now, why don’t you go to myplace with the girls, have a shower, and find yourself a change of clothing?You’ll feel so much better.’

‘Oh, Moira, itreminds me of our tuck shop days, it really does,’ said the other. ‘But it’sbeen a few years since we’ve done that, and I don’t think we can exchangeclothing like we used to do.’ She patted Moira’s rounded tummy.  ‘I can’t put a pound on no matter what I eat,and you pile it on just looking at food.’

‘You don’t haveto worry about that,’ began Dani. ‘Mum has four wardrobes.’

‘Hasn’teveryone?’ said Moira with a ghost of a smile.

‘So, you’vestill got your thin clothes?’ asked Joyce.

‘Thin clothes,medium sized clothes, large clothes and the fat clothes which I’m wearing atthe moment,’ admitted Moira. ‘But I’m keeping everything because I might needthem one day.’

‘You’re boundto find a size to fit you,’ finished Chelsea.

‘And by thetime you get back,’ said Moira, ‘you’ll be smelling something a lot better thanthis.’

In the weeksthat followed, Moira, whose only outside work as a married woman had consistedof being a tuck shop volunteer, found herself exhausted at the end of the day,usually asleep before her head touched the pillow. When she wasn’t working,every Lawrence within the reach of a bus or a train dropped in to see how poorold Moira did.

They wereimmediately led to Moira’s welcoming kitchen, a room which Vincent never usedfor the entertaining of visitors. But to Moira, tongues loosened, bodiesrelaxed and mind expanded, when nourished with a freshly brewed cup of tea, anda cake or pie just out of the oven. In the kitchen you had friends, in thesitting room you had self-conscious visitors on their best behaviour.

Comfortable intheir surroundings, the Lawrences talked freely about Moira’s currentsituation. Depending on their disposition or personal experiences, there werethose Lawrences who were sure it was just a matter of time before Vincentrealized what he had lost, and the others whose attitude was good riddance tobad rubbish. Even her Grand Aunt Emma, who hadn’t spoken to Moira since theylast met at Uncle Tom’s funeral, fifteen years ago, dropped in. Having lost Tom,she felt that she knew how Moira felt and gave her many tips on how to survivethe loss. Moira, the Lawrence girl that she was, never let on that her ownhusband, unlike Aunty Emma’s, was still very much alive.

By and large,Moira had too much to do, more visitors than she knew what to do with, to spendtime thinking about anything much.  Itwas almost six months later that a bit of a problem arose.

‘They’re movingus out of this area, Moira,’ Joyce began to tell her rather tentatively.

‘You’ll becooking for four times as many people as you do now.’

Moira couldn’tsee the problem.

‘They’re movingus to one of the outer suburbs.’

When shebrought herself at last to tell Moira just how far that outer suburb was, Moirapulled up short. A five minute drive to work was one thing. A two hour drivewas another thing entirely. Did she really want to do that?

‘Oh, Mum,’ saidKelly when she heard the news. ‘It’s really a God send. This house is fallingapart. The roof needs replacing, electric wiring is not up to scratch, and it’ssix times too large for you. Sell it and get something smaller, more modern,and closer to your work.’

‘Oh, I can’t dothat.’

‘Of course youcan,’ said Monica. ‘These inner city houses are fetching prices like youwouldn’t believe. You’ll end up with a brand new house, and enough money to seeyou through when you retire.’

‘But what aboutyour dad?’

‘Dad alwayshated this house,’ said Tina. ‘You know that. It’s so dark and gloomy. Cold inwinter, hot in summer.’

‘I don’t know...’

‘I’ll have alook on the Internet and see what’s out there,’ said Dani.

‘And I’ll getsomeone to look at your house,’ added Chelsea. ‘I know every developer willjump at the opportunity to get this massive place – and all that land.’

When threemonths later Moira found herself in a brand, spanking new house, she couldn’tbelieve the sense of freedom she felt. It was so full of light – windows andglass doors everywhere. The kitchen was an absolute dream. And as for theneighbours... They couldn’t be nicer. Vincent never encouraged neighbours poppingin, fearing what it would do to Moira’s efforts at slimming down.

She was justenjoying her free day from the Blue Care kitchen when Tina popped in.Pretending a sort of nonchalant seriousness, she failed to hide the smiles thatwould pop out in spite of her efforts to keep them in check.

‘What is it?’

‘Oh Mum,’ facelighting up like a Christmas tree, and only too ready to unburden herself,‘Jimmy’s asked me to marry him!’

‘Oh, Tina,’they were hugging and laughing, Moira wiping her eyes.

‘You won’t mindif I ask dad to give me away, will you? He did it for all the other girls. Andhe is my dad.’

‘Of coursehe’ll give you away,’ Moira answered quickly. ‘Mind you, Tina, I don’t know howmuch I can help you with the wedding. I suppose I could do the catering.’

‘No, you won’tmum,’ said Tina comfortably. ‘Jimmy knows all about dad leaving you, and youhaving to work. His family got pots of money. They’ll pay for the lot.’

On the weddingday Moira sat in one of the front seats and wept as she did at all weddings.She had watched Vincent, looking every inch as handsome as he’d ever been,place Tina next to Jimmy, shake Jimmy’s hand, give Tina peck on the cheek,before seating himself beside her. He hadn’t brought his girlfriend with him, asshe’d half-feared he would, and instead. the whole family sat together.

If anything,she wept more than usual. Wept for the wonderful years when Vincent and she hadbeen two laughing teenagers, parking for hours in front of her house, unable totear themselves away from each other.

Wept at heryears of motherhood when he’d bring her babies to the bed early in the morning,kiss her tenderly when placing them in her arms, and watch proudly as theirhungry mouths would reach for her ample breast.

Wept at thememory of being woken at dawn by five squealing kids, screaming and laughing asthey threw themselves on the bed, their hands filled with packages in honour ofher birthday or mother’s day, while Vincent would wink, as she’d unwrap theuseless junk and kiss the giver as if it was the most precious thing she’d everseen.

He had beensuch a good husband and such a good father.

She knew thatas the years went on, he’d felt let down at her limitations to keep up withhim. Knew also that he’d hated the Lawrence family Christmases, and weddings,and anniversaries that she so looked forward to, and that they always werefirst to leave. Knew also that he’d been disappointed that all the girls hadtaken after her side of the family. While his brothers and sisters braggedabout the doctors and lawyers and professors that they had produced, theclosest to a profession one of her girls got to, was to become ahairdresser. 

The next day,like every other day after the wedding day, she felt a little let down, and itwas with a sense of relief she heard the doorbell. She opened it to findVincent standing there.

She led himinto her new kitchen, automatically making him a cup of coffee brewed just theway he liked it, and pulled out a few pastries which was one of his ownindulgences and which she always had on hand.

Withoutpreamble ‘Moira,’ he said, ‘I’ve been a fool. If you’ll have me, I’d like tocome back.’

..........

All the monthshe’d been away, she’d imagined this moment. Had savoured the joy of it. But nowthat she was faced with its reality, she felt strangely empty.

‘I know you’llfind it hard to forgive me...’

No. To forgivewas not difficult for her at all. The Lawrence girls were not into resentmentand grudges. She had never felt the need to forgive. She loved him. Love wasunconditional.

And that wasthe problem. She could love him whether he was right or wrong. Whether he wasrich or poor. Whether he was fitting in with her family or friends or not. Itwas not for her to set standards on how he should look, how he should act, howhe should talk, what he should like or dislike.

In some way,she now realized with a sort of surprise, he was a child, needing to fit in,needing to belong, needing to impress, needing everything to be just right. Hewas not seeing her for what she was, but for how people perceived her. Heneeded the right house, he needed the right car, he needed the right wife.

Unconsciously,she had realized it a long time ago, but only now it came to her clearly andforcibly. She had refused to move to the coast not because she couldn’t standbeing seen in swimming togs, but because Vincent couldn’t bear to see her inthem. She had not minded going to his work functions, indeed had enjoyed them,but it was the look in his eyes, anxious about what she might say or do, thattook away her joy. She could live with his lack of approval, but she couldn’tlive with his constant disapproval.

Even if shecould change, she now knew she had never wanted to, or felt the need to, exceptfor Vincent. She loved food. She loved handling it. She loved cooking it. Sheloved eating it. She loved sharing it.

Living withVincent was like watching a television show which you absolutely loved, andwhich he absolutely hated. And instead of shrugging his shoulders and lettingher watch it and enjoy it, he made sure that she knew how much he hated it, andhow little he thought of her for not having his good taste in hating it also.

The differencebetween her and him was that she could allow him to be what he wanted to be,because the opinions of others were not what she lived for. But the opinion ofothers was all that Vincent lived for.

He had said toher, I only feel old when I’m with you. And she could now honestly say, Ionly feel unhappy when I’m with you. Your disapproval is like a black cloudhanging over me.

She felt sorryfor him. He was such a good man. Had always been a good man. No one knew betterthan she how hard he’d worked to give her and the girls everything to maketheir life easy.

As she lookedat him now, she felt a terrible sense of pity for him. In his need forapproval, in his need to be perceived as perfect, he was alone, the way shewould never be alone.

‘I threw awayall my clothes,’ she said simply. ‘I’ve only kept the ones that fit me. The fatones.’

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